Page 54 of Dragon’s Rogue

“Yeah,” he said. “Dragons have a talent for metalwork.” He pursed his lips and blew out a tiny flame, then gave her a lopsided smile. “Natural welding ability.”

Right. But still… she gave the chandelier one more look. Dragon he might be, but he was also an artist.

A section of the paneling slid open. It was an elevator, the interior of the car decorated in brass and red velvet with gold accents. “Come on,” he said. “Thorne must have taken the other car down.”

“You have two elevators?” she said. “You all don’t like waiting much, do you?”

Zane shrugged. “It’s a long way down. And it depends. If it’s important, I can wait a long time.”

His gaze on her was giving her the shivers. She wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or not.

After a second’s hesitation, Blaze got in the elevator. She didn’t like the idea of being trapped in the very-far-down bowels of a dragon’s lair, but she figured Zane had already saved her life tonight.

She might as well trust him a little further.

The doors slid shut, and the elevator moved silently down.

Zane’s overwhelming presence filled the tiny space. The ancient elemental power she’d sensed in him at Jean-Claude’s party made sense now. So did the singing gold.

A dragon. She’d made hot, passionate love to a dragon on the couch of her gallery. She still felt the echoes of that connection, the way their bodies had literally moved in harmony.

And now he seemed to think that meant—what? She was his?

“Zane,” she said. “About before. In the gallery…”

His brows lowered. “It wasn’t a mistake, if that’s what you were going to say.”

Maybe not to him, but he didn’t get to decide how she felt—about that, or anything else.

“We don’t even know each other.”

“I know you.”

Despite herself, the memories came flooding back. How she’d felt in the gallery. Those other memories—Zane’s memories—that kissing him had somehow allowed her to see.

His dreams. “I know you think you do,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you get to decide things for me. Where I go, what risks I take, what I need—”

“It’s obvious what you need right now. You used a dangerous amount of magic, and you can barely stand up.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But I do worry,” he said quietly. “I’m a dragon.”

“And dragons are natural worrywarts?”

He gave a soft huff of air. “Dragons are protective of… all their treasures.” He turned to face her, trailing one finger ever so lightly down the side of her face. His voice grew low and husky. “One might even say… possessive.”

She fought the urge to lean in to him, to just let him take care of everything. The last thing she needed was a possessive dragon trying to monitor her every move—and yet, a part of her just wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go.

She made herself step back. “I don’t belong to anyone. I’m not a possession.”

“Yeah.” He turned away, facing the elevator door again. “Tell that to my dragon.”

“He thinks I belong to him?” Fear lent an edge to her voice, and she grasped the brass rail attached to the elevator wall. Maybe it had been a bad move, to come down here with him.

There was a silence. “He thinks you’re a treasure.”

That took her words away. A treasure. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be treasured.